She sat down on the grass and, for the first time in months, allowed herself to smile. That hole, which had first caused a primal terror, was simply a consequence of nature.

And ironically, it reminded the widow: life doesn’t stop. Even in the cemetery, under flowers and stones, it goes on — crawling, digging, breathing.

She adjusted her scarf, carefully smoothed the soil at the edge of the tunnel, placed the flowers back, and quietly said:

“You would have laughed, wouldn’t you? I can imagine how you would have teased me.”